


Two Pairs of Gloves

by shallowness



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-01
Updated: 2004-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shallowness/pseuds/shallowness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan sees something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Pairs of Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> Mid to late S2. Thanks to FridayAngel for betaing. All idiocies are mine.
> 
> I saw a woman riding a bike on her way to work one morning. She was wearing biking gloves. This came from there.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don’t own, or profit, only playing.

_Two pairs of gloves, lying on a desk._

_Two pairs of gloves, lying on a desk._

Logan feels as if he is repeating a childhood rhyme, a chant. Over and over as he stares at them, not listening to the pretty inevitable bickering behind him: – _… I’ll kick your ass ... Are you sure that’s all you wanna do ... Disgusting ... Yeah, yeah._

He wishes he’d said something about only needing one person’s help, since these days she always seems to bring Alec along. Logan used to believe it was Alec that brought himself over. Curious like a cat and always bored enough to make mischief before getting in on some action, even if it was Eyes Only-sanctioned and for the good of more than the selfish transgenic.

Looking at the desk now, Logan isn’t so sure about who’s been bringing whom. Max probably used Alec’s cell when she answered the pager. Logan knows that later on he will check this, check with the obsession to details that he has.

The one that notices the way those gloves are lying on the desk. Two black biking gloves, fingerless, with straps for adjusting at the wrist. No big deal, as much a part of the Jam Pony identity as their sector passes. Even superhuman messengers need protecting from the nasty bike handles.

He could pretend that they mean nothing more than Max and Alec left work to come here at his request, took them off when they realized they were in for a long night of planning – planning for which they don’t need him. Oh, they’ll need him later – for back up, to do the surveillance and give them live intel, but he has nothing to contribute right now as they discuss ways and means.

And his eyes wandered, and he saw the two pairs of gloves lying on his desk. The smallest at the bottom, crumpled and folded in the landing after Max flung them down before going straight for the plans, Alec following her actions, his bigger gloves almost covering hers. Logan’s been replaying that little moment over and over underneath the chant.

He knows that if he could, he would go over to the pile, straighten the gloves out as a cover. But Max’s skin cells, her DNA are all over both, tangled together as they are. He wants to go away, rearrange something else then, but his kitchen is tidied and his office area’s an organized mess. So he’s forced to stare, dully, because he isn’t wanted in the discussion: – _No, I’ll climb and let you in ... You’re no fun ... How much smaller am I than you ... I keep forgetting that with that big personality of yours ... So I’ll let you in…._

There is no distraction from the two pairs of gloves lying on a desk.

END  
Feedback is loved.


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